


Green Label

by GreenasCole



Category: Lost Girl, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Claudia Stilinski Feels, Crossover, Fae & Fairies, Family Secrets, Ifrit Jordan, Incubus Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Nobility, Politics, Post-Season/Series 03B, Racism, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Vampire Danny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3364457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenasCole/pseuds/GreenasCole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jordan Parrish has a rough day.  He discovers he's some inhuman supernatural creature, gets the life sucked out him by his boss's teenage son, and learns about an entire secret world of Fae that subjugate and feed on humans behind the scenes.</p><p>It's a far cry from the life of small town Sheriff's Deputy he wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I realized a while back how well Lost Girl and Teen Wolf canon's can blend together pre-season 4 with little to know tweaking.
> 
> Behold the weirdness that is my brain.
> 
> Note the lack of dubcon warnings? I'm writing an incubus fic where the incubus is maniacal about consent. Apparently I just want Stiles to suffer or something.
> 
> Updates weekly.
> 
> Oh, I decided that I like present tense much better, so it switches after chapter one. I'll fix that at some point.

Jordan stared at the open door of the holding cell worrying that he’d completely lost his mind. It was only a few months ago that he completed his Deputy training; he would remember if one of his instructors mentioned something about the use of force fields in law enforcement. For that matter, he was able to walk in and out of the cells the day before, and the Sheriff was a conscientious man that would install technology straight from the pages of science fiction without sending out a memo at the very least. He would have simply walked away until he could figure out a way to ask about it without sounding insane, but he needs his keys, which had continued on into the cell when the shield zapped his hand.

He stood there helplessly until salvation arrived in the form of his boss’s oddly monikered son, Stiles. “You okay, Parrish? My dad sent me back here to see if you fell and hit your head or something.”

Jordan had somehow managed to randomly pick the county with highest mortality rate for Sheriff’s Deputies in the entire country, so that comment carried a lot more weight than it rightfully should. He still had no idea what exactly was so compelling about Beacon Hills that he just never left when he drove up for his interview. “Could you grab my keys for me please?” he asked.

Stile surprised him by going absolutely still the way people do when they feel the barrel of a gun pointing at them. It was extra alarming because stillness of any kind just looked _wrong_ on him. “Sure can do!” he said with effusively faked enthusiasm, sidling into the cell without ever exposing his back. “Here.”

Jordan reached out to take the keys only to get pulled forward when Stiles grabbed his wrist and yanked, hard.

The force field lit up vibrant blue, sparks shooting where his skin made contact with the wall of energy.

“So…what the hell are you and why are you in Beacon Hills here following my dad around like a lost little puppy?” Stiles demanded emulating his father so exactly it was eerie.

“Pardon?” What else could Jordan say to that? (And here he thought he was being subtle in pursuing his surrogate father figure’s approval, whoops.)

“My dad must have forgotten to drop the wards after we tested them, so it’s No Go for things that go bump in the night. So how about you tell me what particular species of bump you are before my dad follows me back here and overreacts. With his shotgun.”

“Those ninjas that attacked the station?” Jordan asked. He’d dealt with the weirdness of that night by trying to forget it. Clearly that wasn’t really an option anymore.

“Those were Oni,” Stiles replied with a confused look on his face. “Japanese shadow demons conjured by a celestial kitsune. You…didn’t know, did you? That you’re not human, I mean.”

“What are you talking about? _Of course_ I’m human,” Jordan protested.

“Oh yeah? Then walk into the cell.”

They glared at one another for over a minute before Stiles sighed and rubbed at his temples. “I so do not need this right now.”

Jordan immediately felt like the world’s biggest ass. “Your friend’s funeral was this morning,” he blurted tactlessly.

“Yes,” Stiles said flatly. “The Oni killed her. So I’m asking nicely one last time before I call for help. What. Are. You?”

“Stiles, there’s no such thing as shadow demons, fox spirits, or magic wards,” Jordan said in the calm voice he used on drunk, belligerent suspects, willing himself to believe it.

Stiles stepped forward and reached above the inside of the cell, pulled down a piece of wood about an inch wide, half an inch tall, and the same length as the doorframe. “Try it now Mr. Skeptic.”

Jordan cautiously put his hand through the door. Nothing happened. “That doesn’t prove anything.

“No,” Stiles agreed with a malicious smirk. “But this does.”

The sharp jab to the chest shouldn’t even have bruised, but flimsy stick impacted Jordan’s chest like a sledgehammer in a spray of blue sparks, sent him reeling backwards. “What the hell was _that_?”

Stiles wiggled the bit of wood in his hand. “Rowan wood. Great for repelling supernatural nasties, and an exquisite choice for decorative woodcrafts. Wow, _still_ not there yet? Catch.”

Jordan put up a hand reflexively, getting another painful shock for his trouble. “Alright, I believe you.”

“Good man.”

“What happens now?” Jordan asked, desperate for something to give him forward momentum before his brain flatlined from the shock. As a child put up for anonymous adoption he had long since accepted that there were a lot of things he would never know about his biological parents, but it never even occurred to him to wonder about their _species_ , or his own for that matter.

“Talk to my dad?” Stiles suggested uncertainly.

Jordan shook his head vehemently. “No, I mean not yet. I want to understand this …better, before I have to worry about getting fired for Genus Unbecoming of a Sheriff’s Deputy.”

Stiles stared at him blankly for a moment before bursting into wobbly laughter. “I like you. I really hope we don’t have to set you on fire or cut you in half.”

“Are those things likely?” Jordan asked weakly. All he did was drop his keys, and now a seventeen year old boy with a recent history of mental problems was threatening him with summary execution. He _definitely_ chose the wrong town.

“Honestly? I don’t even know if either would work on you,” Stiles replied with a grimace. “You’re not a werewolf, a kitsune, a banshee, or a kanima. Those are the only supernatural creatures I’ve actually met in person.”

“Those animal attacks earlier this year?”

“Insane Alpha werewolf,” Stiles confirmed. “Speaking of whom, I guess his nephew is the one you want to talk to. I mean, the druid would probably _know_ more but actually _tell_ you less.”

Jordan mentally stumbled over the word druid, and set aside the whole issue of magic for _later_. “Who is this Nephew of Insane Alpha Werewolf?”

“Derek Hale.”

“Of course he is,” Jordan muttered. “When?”

“Does now work for you? I need to get back to Scott.”

“I’m in the middle of my shift.”

Stiles pulled out his phone and called someone on speed dial. “Hey, dad. Huh? No he’s fine. Listen, I need to borrow him for like, an hour. Because I’m feeling all PTSD today and need a protection detail? Yes I’m planning to _return him in one piece_. Uh huh. Okay. I promise I’ll explain later. Bye.”

“You shouldn’t joke about PTSD,” Jordan scolded.

Stiles winced. “Right, you’re a Vet, sorry. But hey, you don’t have to worry about missing the action. Beacon Hills makes the Golden Triangle look like Central Park.”

Jordan had no trouble believing him. “What really happened to you?”

“I was possessed by a dark kitsune,” Stiles replied flatly, tone making it clear that that was all he was going to say on the subject. “Welp, I guess we’re off to see the Sour Wolf.”

The _what_?

 

***

 

Jordan gave the building Stiles directed him to a dubious look. “He lives here? Is he squatting?”

“Dude, I have no idea,” Stiles snorted. “The last place he lived was a defunct railway station, and before that the burned out ruins of his family’s old house.”

“And here I was worried the guy was shady,” Jordan muttered.

“So, _so_ shady,” Stiles agreed brightly. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Whatever “this” was, Jordan never found out, because when Stiles went to open the door someone yanked it open from the other side, pulling him off balance. An attractive blond woman in her late twenties or so stood on the other side, an unconscious man, Derek, slung over her shoulder and a pump action shotgun in her free hand.

“Holy Hunter,” Stiles gasped. “ _Kate!?_ ”

“Stiles, right?” she greeted with a cruel smirk. “Get out of the way.”

“Parrish _shoot_ her for fuck’s sake!” Stiles yelped.

Jordan hesitated.

Kate didn’t. “Have it your way,” she sighed, and shot Stiles in the chest point blank.

Too late, Jordan drew his sidearm and fired, putting the first round her shoulder to incapacitate her gun arm, followed by two in her chest. Instead of dropping dead on the spot she snarled at him, face changing into a furry purple _something_ with glowing green eyes and protuberant fangs.

So he shot her some more, kept firing until she hurled Derek’s body him with inhuman strength and ran while he struggled to stay upright under the larger man’s bulk. Jordan eased him down as gently as possible and pulled out his phone to call an ambulance, but a clawed hand shot and clamped down on his wrist with crushing force before he could dial 911.

“Don’t,” Derek coughed, flecks of black goo splattering the pavement. “Stiles’s phone. Scott McCall. Turn him. Healing.”

 _Stiles_.

Jordan forced himself to look. The huge, ragged entry wound on the upper left side of the boy’s torso was still smoking slightly, his shirt blackened around it with powder burns. Jordan dug through his pockets until he found the phone and tossed it to Derek.

Stiles let out a wheezing rattle and went still.

“CPR,” Derek choked out. “Brain function.”

“Right,” Jordan muttered, catching on quickly. He just needed to keep him from brain death until a werewolf could show up and bite him. It was a mark of how completely overwhelmed he was that that actually made sense to him. He started compressions, jerking in surprise when one of Stiles’s ribs broke. “Shit.” He leaned down to give him a rescue breath.

Stiles’s eyes flew open the instant their lips touched. Instead of their normal whiskey-brown they were a bold carmine and glowing like backlit rubies.

Jordan barely noticed. Not the demonic eyes. Not the stream of crimson energy flowing out of his mouth and into Stiles’s. The whole of his awareness was overwhelmed by an indescribable rush of euphoria and physical ecstasy that went beyond mere sexual pleasure. It was like every orgasm, fist fight, night of drinking and clubbing, and delicious meal he’d ever had blended into a single infinitely complex sensation, setting every nerve in his body alight with absolute euphoria. He couldn’t have said how long it went on for but when he finally melted down to the ground he felt like he’d just run the Boston Marathon with a hundred pounds of rocks strapped to his back.

Somewhere a phone was ringing.

“Deaton?” Derek growled, surprised. “No I felt it too. No it wasn’t me. It was _Stiles_. He’s a fucking _incubus_.”

Jordan giggled at that, finding the redundancy hilarious for some reason. The heaving of his abdomen caused his painfully hard erection to shift in his pants, and things went fuzzy around the edges once again.

“He fed off one of his father’s deputies. No, he’s still alive, but fuck if I know how. He doesn’t look _hurt_ , but if his orgasm lasts much longer I’m going to start getting uncomfortable.”

Derek is really very attractive, Jordan decided. If the guy would just come down where he is then they could share the orgasm and it wouldn’t be so awkward.

“Yes I’m bringing them to you,” Derek snarled, yelled almost. “Just let me get me some wolfsbane in the hole Kate fucking Argent just blew through my torso and I’ll be right along.” He hung up the phone. “Fucker. You, snap out of it.”

Jordan felt himself hauled more or less upright, which was a little dizzying in a pleasant sort of way. The right cross that landed on his chin and threw him back down was much less so. “What the hell was _that_?” he groaned returning to his senses.

“Congratulations, Deputy, you may be the first person ever to survive being fed off by a nascent incubus. Which begs the question: _what are you_?” Derek demanded, eyes glowing blue.

Jordan stared down at Stiles snoring away lightly with a dreamy smile on his face. “I’m really starting to hate that question.”

 

***

 

He dropped Stiles and Derek off at the animal clinic (and should have won some kind of award for not making a joke about werewolves seeing a vet for medical care) and went by his apartment to shower and change (he also had to jerk off _twice_ before his body finally calmed down enough for him to be able to walk around in public without holding something over his groin for the sake of decency) before heading back. Stiles was still passed out and laying on the exam table, his friend Scott hovering over him nervously, a plastic bag of cleans clothes dangling off his arm.

“Good, you’re back,” Derek greeted flatly, flicking an irritated glance at Scott.

“ _Now_ will someone tell me what’s going on?” the boy asked impatiently. “What happened to Stiles?”

“Kate shot him,” Derek supplies.

“But…Peter _killed her_ ,” Scott insisted, edging toward petulant. “I was _there_.”

Derek rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. “She didn’t _die_ , obviously; she turned into a werejaguar.”

“Gentlemen,” Deaton interrupted them. “We have bigger concerns at the moment, I believe.”

Guilt spasmed across Scott’s face as he looked back at Stiles. “Right, sorry. So what’s wrong with Stiles?”

“Well for starters he’s hungry,” Stiles grumbled sleepily. “What’s going on?”

“Stiles!” Scott cried grabbing him up in a hug that lifted the other teen half off the table.

“Wolf strength, Scott” Stiles wheezed, returning the hug with obvious effort to out-squeeze his friend.

This time it was Scott that winced in pain. “Holy crap, dude,” he croaked. “When did you get so strong?”

“Um, like twenty minutes ago? What’s up with that by the way?”

“You’re an incubus,” Derek supplied in a tone that suggested it was obvious.

Stiles blinked at him a couple of times, nonplussed. “Oooooookay. Just how much wolfsbane did Kate shoot you up with anyway?”

“Oh for the love of…” Derek growled, stalked over and seized him by the front of his ruined shirt, mashing their lips together.

Stiles eyes did that glowing thing again as he drew in a deep breath, pulling more of that weird light out of the werewolf.

Derek broke it off after just a second. “See?”

Scott looked like he might be sick. “Dude, are you okay?”

“Huh?” Stiles murmured, crimson eyes glazed over.”

“ _Derek_ just _kissed_ you!”

“You should try it next,” Jordan drawled, amused by Scott’s overly theatrical display of revulsion. “It’s a hell of a rush.”

“Gross! Stiles is _like my brother_.”

“He’s also sitting right here,” Stiles muttered.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you were Fae?” Derek asked accusingly.

“I’m what now?”

Derek turned the same questioning look on Jordan next.

“Don’t look at me. I was adopted,” he deflected.

“Fae is a general classification for a wide variety of supernatural predators that predate on humans,” Deaton explained patiently. “Typically you have to be born Fae, but there are exceedingly rare instances where this isn’t the case.”

Derek nodded in understanding, “Lydia.”

Jordan cleared his throat loudly. “And what kind of Fae am I, exactly?”

Deaton gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I have no idea beyond “a powerful one”. For you to have survived an uncontrolled feeding like that is rather remarkable.”

“Stiles’s hacker friend is a vampire. He might be able to tell from the taste of your blood,” Derek suggested with a dismissive shrug.

“What!?” Stiles and Scott screech in unison.

Jordan chuckled at their shock. They had apparently known about this stuff for some time and he was having an easy time wrapping his head around this new information than them. Then again, he had the unfair advantage of total mental overload. Later once he has had some time to process his freak out will most likely put theirs to shame. “While we’re on the subject of calling people, isn’t about time someone let the Sheriff know what’s going on?”

“Aw crap,” Stiles moaned desolately. “This going to kill him.”

“Are you sure about that?” Derek asked drily. “You shrugged off a blast from a shotgun at point blank range. Even you are going to have a hard time finding for trouble than you can handle from now on.”

“Somehow I don’t think he’ll find that very reassuring,” Stiles snapped back sarcastically. He made a face as his stomach let out a growl that was practically a war. “Wow, I’m having a major meat craving. Is that an incubus thing?”

Derek snorted. “Do you ever think before you speak?”

“Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“But he’s going to be okay, right?” Scott asked nervously.

Deaton’s face fell. “There are…complications that have to be dealt with.”

Derek laughed derisively at this, drawing a red-eyed glare of disapproval from Scott. “That’s the most ridiculous understatement I’ve ever heard.”

“I _really_ don’t like the sound of that,” Stiles grumbled unhappily.

Jordan was suddenly possessed of an unholy urge to give the boy a hug, but managed to force it back before he acted on it. Apparently he was still a little under Stiles’s thrall. (He also had to put his worry that incubus feeding simply hooked harder and faster than crack cocaine, in which case he was screwed, possibly in multiple senses of the word.)

 

***

 

“Are you sure a dinner party is right way to handle this?”

Stiles looked up from testing tomatoes for ripeness and gave him a scathing glare. “I’m making hamburgers, not a five course meal. Besides, I’m hoping if I ply my dad with enough red meat he won’t give me that look.”

Jordan doubts Stiles knows how lucky he is to have a parent whose opinion is actually worth worrying about. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Not yet,” Stiles muttered.

“What does that mean?”

“Dude, I am _literally_ a sexual predator, one that apparently needs an armed escort just to go to the fucking _grocery store_.”

Jordan grimaced and nodded, conceding the point. Both Deaton and Derek insisted that Stiles be chaperoned by someone that was actually able to resist his powers to prevent any “accidents” from occurring. As much as he wished he could tell the boy it was just a precaution, he’d been on the receiving end of the incubus’s abilities at full blast, knew just how quickly a lapse in control would lead to dead bodies. “They said you taught Scott how to control himself.”

“That was _different_ ,” Stiles snarled, accidentally squeezing through the fruit in his hand. “Scott actually _wanted_ to keep his wolfy stuff in check. I on the other hand want to have my way with you right here in the produce section,” he admitted blushing furiously.

“I’m flattered and all, but I think the other shoppers would appreciate it we kept it in our pants,” Jordan deadpanned.

Stiles chuckled darkly, shaking his head, but at least it was an improvement. “Are you even into dudes, or did I just drag up the Kinsey Scale chromatically with my Roofie Monster powers?”

How was it that having a frank discussion about his sexuality with a relative stranger in the middle of a grocery store was the least of the bizarre things to happen that day? “I’m gay, relax.”

Stiles groaned and gave him a massively disappointed look. “Aww man, that’s _worse_. Now I don’t even have my guilt buffer.”

“Hmm, maybe incubus logic is different than human logic,” Jordan mused.

“How would you know, Mystery Fae Guy?” Stiles asked snarkily.

“Touché. Look, if you weren’t seventeen and my boss’s son I’d say you were cute.”

Stiles looked so doubtful at that declaration it made Jordan wonder exactly how delusionally low the boy’s self esteem really was. “I’m your type, huh?”

Honesty seemed like the best way to go. “Not really,” he admitted.

“Let me guess, tall, dark, broody werewolves are more your speed.”

Jordan returned Stiles knowing smirk with interest. “What can I say? I like having a nice set of lats to look at while I’m…”

“Uncle!” Stiles sang, fanning himself like a Southern Belle. “You win Gay Sex Talk Chicken. You know I haven’t even gotten to the Expanding My Porn Collection stage of the whole bicurious thing? It’s literally been all of two weeks since I started thinking about it.” His face fell. “It hasn’t exactly been my priority with everything going on lately. It _shouldn’t_ be. Today was supposed to be about remembering Allison and I’ve somehow managed to turn it into another episode of the Stiles Show. Go me.”

Jordan would have pointed out yet again that none of that was in any way Stiles’s fault, but held back on the grounds that he’d probably get a face full of squashed tomato for his trouble. “What do you think, should we get bacon?” he asked instead.

Stiles gave him a level look. “I want to butter my dad up, not turn his blood from a liquid to a solid.”

“Fair enough.”

“Oh my god, _meat_ ,” Stiles gushed when they got to the butcher counter. “That smells _so good_.”

Jordan has never found the aroma of raw flesh particularly appealing, but to each his own. He started to reach for the pre-made burger patties but Stiles beat him to the cooler, snatching up two jumbo packages of ground beef. “Stiles that’s practically an entire cow.”

“I’m hungry,” the boy said defensively. “Super healing burns a lot of calories.”

“Makes sense.” In crazy Fae world.

They hit up the dairy section for sampler platter of sliced cheeses and head to the checkout aisle. Jordan insisted on paying despite voluble protests. Stiles may have been the incubus in the equation, but he had his own guilt to deal with over coming in his pants like horny teenager from kissing an underage boy.

“How do you want to break the news to your father?” he asked after they loaded up the car, the time on the dash clock staring him in the face.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Stiles replied with toothy smile.

 

***

 

Lying has never been Jordan’s strong suit. As a rule he like to emulate the directness he appreciated from others. Not that it mattered much in this instance. He doubted even a professional poker player or career con artist could sit under Sheriff Stilinski’s penetrating stare without cracking and spilling their guts inside five minutes.

“While I’ve come to terms with the fact that getting a straight answer about anything from my son is actually less likely than…let’s just say things I never would have believed really existed, _you_ are on my payroll. So if you don’t want to work to work nights for the next month scrubbing the floor of the men’s room I suggest you come clean with me right now.”

Jordan took a fortifying breath, choosing his words very carefully before speaking. “Earlier I saw someone left their jacket in one of the holding cells, but when I tried to go in and get it I couldn’t get through the door.”

The Sheriff gave him a quick once over, probably looking for claws and a tail. “So you’re…”

“Something? I honestly didn’t know until today.”

“I see. And this discovery led to you disappearing for several hours and having to change clothes _how_ , exactly?”

Jordan had hoped the Sheriff wouldn’t notice that last bit, wasn’t sure exactly how the man knew he was wearing a different identical uniform. “Stiles took me to see Derek Hale.”

“How’d that go?” Stilinski asked with a wry twist to his mouth.

“It didn’t. When we got there he was in the process of being kidnapped by Kate Argent.”

The Sheriff’s face went completely blank for an unnerving length of time before he finally sighed tiredly. “Aww _hell_. I wish I could say this came as a surprise, but mass murderers have a disturbing tendency to rise from the dead around here.”

Jordan relaxed fractionally. “She threw Derek at us and took off. He was kind of a mess so…”

“Got it. And the reason it took you so long to get back here and report in?”

“Stiles didn’t want to be alone.” It wasn’t exactly the truth; the incubus would probably have loved nothing more than vanish into a cave up in the hills, but Stiles’s practical side had won that battle. “Stiles asked me to tell you he’s making burgers and inviting some people over.”

“Veggie burgers?” the Sheriff asked with a pained grimace.

Jordan shook his head. “No, just regular ground chuck.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. His boss’s sudden piercing stare was a tangible thing that reminded him of getting hit in the chest with rowan wood, the sound of wheels turning in the man’s head a nearly audible thing. “No extra lean turkey organic whatever? And he sent a messenger instead of calling me himself. Jesus Christ, Parrish, what _else_ happened today?”

“He…wants to tell you himself?” Jordan offered, confused by the mysterious food code the Stilinksis used in place of frank discussion.

The Sheriff’s face darkened for a moment before crumpling with weariness that bordered on defeat. “Just go. Make sure he doesn’t get into any more trouble before I get there.”

“Yes sir.”

Jordan made a hasty exit before his boss remembered to follow through on his earlier threats of latrine duty.

***

 

“Oh thank _god_!” Scott almost cried when he answered the Stilinski’s door.

Jordan took a moment to really have a look at the kid and came to the conclusion that the werewolf was on the verge of fraying apart, emotionally. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” Scott asked incredulously. “Who cares? This is all my fault anyway. If I’d just been there for Stiles like he was for me…”

It was like misplaced guilt had become contagious. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” Scott wailed, eyes flashing red. “I went into the kitchen to help with the dinner prep and he just ran away and locked himself in the bathroom. He almost calmed down but then his heartbeat went crazy but every time I knock he yells at me to go away. Please, _fix him_.”

“When was the last time you slept?” Jordan asked.

Scott shrugged. “I guess not since…”

Since the night Allison died. “Come on. You’re going to lie down on the couch. I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

“You will?”

Jordan nudged him out of the doorway, directed him towards the couch with a series of gentle pushes. “Here, just rest your eyes for a minute.”

“I am kind of tired,” Scott mumbled around a yawn. He was out the second his head hit the cushion.

“Welcome to the Stilinski Home For Troubled Supernatural Teens,” Jordan muttered. He decided to start in the kitchen, see if he could figure out just what set Stiles off in the first place. Nothing jumped out at him immediately. There were a couple of cutting boards laid out side by side with tomatoes, onions, and a head of lettuce, the last of which was only half sliced, the carving knife sticking halfway out of it. He stood where Stiles would have been and looked around, noticed the faint speckling of pale red across the counter top, and followed it to a similar smell on the handle of the refrigerator door. The interior of the appliance was unilluminating, then he noticed something odd: the hamburger meat wasn’t anywhere in evidence.

“No way.”

A quick look in the trash confirmed his suspicion: both massive packages of meat were in there, empty, along with the empty wrapper from one of those huge wrapped cylinders of discount meat that looked like a giant sausage, presumably brought over a desperately helpful Scott. He could see why Stiles had panicked; it wasn’t humanly possible to eat that much, not by a long shot, and last time Jordan had checked consuming vast quantities of raw meat was not typical incubus behavior (though for all he knew incubi observed a nightly ritual of performing expository poetry while wearing lampshades on their heads). Time to find Stiles.

The bathroom door was locked as expected, but Jordan had picked up a thing or two during his brief spate of teenage rebellion after finding out he was adopted, and it took less than a minute for him to jimmy the lock. “Stiles?” he called out quietly.

An indistinct murmur came from the shower.

Jordan gently pulled back the curtain to find him sitting in the tub shirtless with his arms wrapped around his knees. “So…I take it you’re not hungry anymore?”

Stiles let out a hiccoughing little laugh. “Yeah, not so much.”

“I get being freaked out by that.”

“I once won two hundred bucks by eating a twelve pound burger in less than an hour,” Stiles drawled. “Me being a bottomless pit isn’t exactly news.”

“So why..?”

“Because of _these_.” The incubus leapt to his feet and slapped a hand against his stomach.

Jordan couldn’t help but stare at the lean, rippling physique under pale, smooth, mole dotted skin. Seventeen, he reminded himself sharply before he could surrender to the desire to map out the ridges of muscle with his tongue. “I…uh…see?”

“I have abs for fuck’s sake! And I swear this morning I actually had chest hair! Fuck my life; I might as well move to Chicago and change my last name to Raith!”

“I’m sorry?” Jordan offered dazedly staring at Stiles’s chest and wondering what kind of noises the younger man would make if he ran the rough pads of his thumbs over the small, shell pink nipples.

“My eyes are up here, dude.”

Jordan jerked his gaze upward, blushing. “Sorry.”

“Ugh, I can actually _see_ you getting all hot and bothered,” Stiles groaned rubbing his eyes. “You’re like, _glowing_.”

“Maybe you could put a shirt on?” Jordan suggested faintly.

Stiles glanced down pointedly. “And maybe you could take care of _that_ while I go grab me a polar bear shower.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Jordan muttered, mortified. He kept his eyes firmly shut as Stiles brushed past him, waited until he heard the water running upstairs to dart over and lock the door. His pants hit the floor a moment later. It took him less than a minute to bring himself off (for the fourth time in as many hours, _Christ_ ), even keeping his mind determinedly blank. He’d just finished cleaning up after when the doorbell rang.

Scott was still out cold, so Jordan answered it himself, surprised to find a vaguely familiar teenage boy of Pacific extraction on the other side. “Danny?” he guessed.

“Oh, it’s _you_ ,” the burly young man said looking him over appreciatively. “So you’re the mystery Fae? I’ve seen at Jungle. Glad I get to finally have a taste.”

Jordan could feel something pushing at him, vampire seduction powers probably, but it was about as forceful as light breeze after spending the day getting stunned repeatedly by Stiles’s abilities, which were like being hit by a Mack truck in comparison. “So you’re a vampire?” All he needed now was to meet The Mummy and the classic horror trifecta would be complete.

“That’s right. Are you going to invite me in?”

“This isn’t my house so…”

Danny brushed past him. “That was a _joke_.”

“How old are you?” Jordan blurted. Based on appearance alone the vampire shouldn’t even be allowed into the club they apparently both frequented.

“Seventeen.”

“Uh huh. And just how long have you _been_ seventeen?”

“About three and a half months, Bella Swan,” Danny answered wryly.

Jordan rolled his eyes at the accidental Twilight reference, felt he could be forgiven under the circumstances. “So how do we do this? Do you have to bite me on the neck..?”

“Relax. As much as I would like to sink my teeth in you, you look kind of…spent.”

“Stiles,” he muttered by way of explanation.

Danny smirked at him knowingly, nose wrinkling. “I’ll bet. I just need you finger.”

Jordan gave him his hand. Watched in fascination as a pair of long, gleaming fangs slid out from the vampire’s gums.

“Just a little prick,” Danny quipped bringing Jordan’s index finger up, piercing the skin with tip of a fang, and licking off the bead of blood that welled up. The vampire rolled it around on his tongue for a moment like a wine connoisseur sampling a glass of merlot, and coughed, eyes widening in surprise. “Damn that’s spicy. And…vanilla?”

“So, what’s the verdict?” Jordan asked growing impatient at being compared to a savory white chocolate dessert.

Danny smiled apologetically. “You’re not something I’ve tasted before, but definitely a hybrid. Let me check something,” he murmured pulling out his phone.

“Checking the Fae Flavor database?”

“Pretty much,” Danny said with an amused snort. “The black market listings for rare Fae blood types have detailed profiles.”

Jordan blinked at him in disbelief, at the same time amazed he still retained the ability to be _surprised_ at this point. “There’s a _website for that_?”

“Craigslist.”

“Of course.”

“Holy shit,” Danny huffed after clicking through a couple of different pages. “Dude, you’re an Ifrit.”

“Isn’t that a type of genie?” Jordan asked.

“Well yeah. It’s weird, though. They usually spend most of their time on their own parallel plane.”

“ _That’s_ what weird here?”

“Ah, that explains it. It looks like one of your parents was Ifrit and the other was Akvan.”

“Which. Is?”

Danny coughed delicately. “Um, the name literally means “Dumb Fae”. It explains why you’re such a late bloomer, though. Do you know what your power is yet?”

Jordan leaned back against the wall for support, finally at his limit. Up to that point the fact that really, truly wasn’t human hadn’t sunken in. He’s never been normal in the strictest sense, but all of his exceptional qualities and achievements could just be chalked up to good DNA and strong work ethic. So far the only the overtly supernatural thing he’s done aside from getting walloped by a magic stick was fail to die when Stiles fed off him, and two years in the Army had made him very good at not dying. But he was supposed to…what? Throw fireballs? Grant wishes? Get a snarky talking parrot for a sidekick?

“Relax, dude. Even Fae need to breathe,” Danny admonished sharply. “Well, I don’t but still,” he quipped. “Should I get Stiles for you?”

The tension left Jordan’s body so fast it was dizzying. Stiles would make everything better.

“Jesus fuck,” Danny muttered rolling his eyes. “He’s enthralled you.”

“Isn’t that what incubi _do_?”

“Yeah, but it’s not supposed to _last_. I don’t think; there aren’t a lot of incubi and succubae around anymore. You need to feed.”

Jordan huffed out a sardonic laugh. “Oddly enough finding out I’m a man-eating Überhumanoid hasn’t done much for my appetite.” It was something of relief that his disturbing Stiles obsession might actually be temporary.

“I wasn’t suggesting we go out for barbecued long pork,” Danny said drily. “Trust me; I’ll get you fixed up.”

“Wait, I _broke him_?” Stiles asked with an appalled look.

Jordan had to avert his eyes; the sight of the incubus still slightly wet from the shower too much pressure on his overstimulated libido.

Danny, however, made an open show of ogling him. “Congrats, Stilinski. You are attractive to gay guys.”

“Joy. My life is complete,” Stiles deadpanned. “Now back to the part where I broke Parrish? My dad specifically asked me not to break him.”

“He just needs to get his strength back up,” Danny said dismissively. “So, can I have a taste or what?”

Stiles gulped, edging away slightly. “Uh…I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. I mean, you’re a nice guy and all…”

“For me, Stiles,” Danny sighed. “So I can see what’s in your blood?”

“Oh, right. Do I need to get a needle or..?” The vampire’s fangs popped out. “Guess not.”

“I just need a finger.”

Once more Jordan was forced to look away or risk needing another change of pants, which made it all the more startling when he heard the vampire’s body hit the floor.

“Holy shit!” Stiles yelped. “I think I killed him.”

“Nrghfugunh ahhhh,” Danny moaned, limbs moving around in languid, uncoordinated motions.

Jordan knelt down and pulled back the vampire’s eyelids. The teen’s pupils were blown so wide the irises had vanished completely. “He’s…stoned.”

Stiles stated giggling hysterically. “Heh, I’m literally _made of roofies_!”

It should have taken both of them to move the heavy young man into the living room and drop him in the recliner, but Stiles managed it without any apparent effort. “Benefits of a high protein diet,” he muttered darkly watching Danny absently gum at the leather upholstery. “Damn it; I ate all the hamburger.” A car pulled up in the driveway. “Fuck, he’s home _already_? What did you _say_?”

“You didn’t exactly give me a lot to work with,” Jordan snapped. “For the record, your dad is my _boss_ and would like to have a job tomorrow.”

Stiles face fell under a fresh avalanche of guilt. “Shit, I’m sorry, dude.”    

“Stiles?” the Sheriff called from the front hall.

“In here, Dad! How do you want to play this?” the kid hissed under breath.

Jordan’s Fae power was not evaporating on the spot. He tried. Hard.

“I’ll handle this,” a third voice growled.

Both of them jumped. “Derek!? What the hell? You ever heard of knocking?” Stiles whisper-screeched indignantly.

“You ever heard of locking the back door when there are Hunters and psychotic werejaguars after your pack?” the werewolf retorted making a hell of a good point.

The Sheriff stalked into the living room without hanging up his belt and gun first, which was probably a Bad Sign. “Hale? This conversation is going to leave me with a few more gray hairs I take it?”

“So listen, Dad…” Stiles started.

“Your wife a member of a noble Fae family,” Derek interjects bluntly, stunning everyone in the room that was still marginally conscious. “Stiles is an incubus, and thanks to the Sacrifice he’s also the leader of the Light Clan in Beacon County. All hail The Oak.”

The Sheriff made a strangled noise.

Stiles shot Derek a death glare.

Jordan wished for the bottle of whiskey he saw in the kitchen cabinet. It appeared in his hand in a swirl of flame and cinder.

 _Everyone_ stared at that.

Then things went blurry as the floor rushed up to meet him.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles watches Deputy Parrish hit the floor like a ton of bricks and decides he is _done_ with this supernatural horseshit. “Forget this. I’m out,” he mutters hysterically as he makes a beeline for the stairs. He’ll go up to his room, crawl under the covers, and when he wakes up this nogitsune-guilt inspired nightmare will be over and all will be well (“well” in a way that still sucks ass but is better than _this_ ).

Derek intercepts him before he can go to paces. “Stiles, you need to calm down.”

“Calm down. _Calm down?_ ” Stiles squawks. “Bad enough I’m already a cop killer, now I sucked the life out of one with my mouth!”

“You _what_?” the Sheriff asks sharply.

Stiles thinks he might cry.

Derek ignores both of them and stalks over to Danny, slaps the vampire across the face sharply. “Snap out of it,” he commands ineffectually. When that doesn’t work he grabs his arm and pulls him off the chair and over to the fallen Deputy, makes a slice on the vampire’s wrist with a claw and puts it to Parrish’s mouth.

“Is that going to work?” Stiles asks hopefully.

“I don’t know,” Derek growls. “Maybe.”

Stiles will take it. _Gladly_. “Good enough for me.”

It takes over a minute during which Stiles feels like he’s going to vibrate apart and sobs with relief when Parrish begins coughing and sputtering. “Please tell me it was all a dream,” he groans.

“Right there with you, dude,” Stiles agrees.

“And where is “there” exactly?” the Sheriff prompts. “Narnia? Sunnydale? The Dresdenverse? What?”

“The Fae world,” Derek replies, “And you all need to learn quickly if you want to survive in it. First things first.” He walks over to the couch and jabs the sleeping Scott in the side. “Wake up.”

The Alpha flails awake with a startled cry. “Derek? What’s going on?”

“Put this on.” Derek drops a necklace with a triskele pendant on the Alpha’s stomach.

“Does this mean you guys are going steady?” Stiles snickers, finally beginning to recover from the weirdness overload.

“It means I own him,” Derek explains grimacing like he’d rather “own” a business of rabid ferrets.

“I think I’d like to pass back out now,” Parrish mutters.

“You own me?” Scott repeats flatly. “Like a pet?”

“Exactly,” Derek confirms.

“Hey Parrish, you wanna hand me that whiskey?” the Sheriff asks weakly.

As fascinating and disturbing as this is, Stiles is having a hard time getting on board with the direction the conversation is having when the mother of all elephants is still hanging around the room. “Go back to part where my mom was a Fae Noblewoman.”

“Your mom was _what_?” Scott gapes.

The Sheriff takes a pull from the bottle. “Yes, let’s start there.”

“You okay, Dad? You look kind of…unhinged.”

“Just peachy, Stiles. I always knew your mom was special, but this…”

Stiles winces. For him finding this out about her is almost cool, especially since he also is “Fae” or whatever; it’s a like he has a piece of her with him he didn’t before. His dad on the other hand just found out the woman he loved wasn’t even human. (Also his _son_ , but Stiles is avoiding thinking about that just now.) “You’re right. So, back to the part where Derek just made Scott his bitch?” Let it never be said he doesn’t know how to swing a conversation his way.

Scott gets to his feet and in Derek’s face. “Yes, let’s.”

Derek huffs in annoyance. “Fine. Here’s the Cliff Notes. In our world there are three types of people. The Fae who run things are the fewest and most powerful. We can live for centuries, even millennia, and the Five Noble Families control more wealth and influence than most governments. Then there are Underfae, those like werewolves that don’t really belong in either the Fae or human worlds.”

“Like werewolves?” Stiles clarifies.

“But you’re a werewolf too,” Scott points out.

Derek…wilts a little. “Yes and no. There are two types of werewolves: wolf shifters, which are Fae, and Lupercus like Scott. Back in the old country when my great grandmother was the Alpha she met a wolf shifter one full moon…”

“And bow chicka wow wow,” Stiles sings.

“My grandmother, mother, and Laura inherited his abilities,” Derek continues, ignoring him. “True Fae. I didn’t know I was too until I felt Stiles connect with the land.”

“When Stiles did _what_?” the Sheriff asks. Again.

“I’ll tell you later?” Stiles promises sheepishly, less than eager to regale his dad with the story of his untimely near-demise. _Again_.

His dad looks over at Parrish who suddenly seems very interested in checking on Danny’s condition. “Uh huh.”

Derek clear his throat pointedly. “Last there are the humans, who are food for the rest. All except for five noble families that the Fae Elders charge with keeping our existence a secret. You can guess who one of them is.”

“The Argents,” Stiles realizes. That explains a few things, and raises about a bazillion more questions. “So that’s interesting and all, but why is _me_ being Fae such a disaster?”

“Because the Fae are divided into two clans: The Light and the Dark. Deaton told me the day your mother died a Dark Fae banshee wailed for her, which means _she_ was Dark.”

“What does Dr. Deaton have to do with all of this?” Scott asks.

“He was a human druid. Even though he’s not Fae he was a sworn initiate of our rituals,” Derek explains. “When he sacrificed Stiles to the Nemeton he forged a bond between him and the land through the power of one of the Light’s Sacred Trees.”

“So you’re saying he claimed this land in the name of Stiles?” Stiles muses. “You know, I never really thought I’d end up in politics. So why isn’t Dr. D the one telling us all this?”

Derek snorts derisively. “Because he bound a Fae noble to a clan without their consent. He’s just a _human_. Normally that kind of thing merits a slow hideous death. Whoever your mother’s family was, they’re going to blow a collective gasket when they find out about this. Especially since they probably don’t know you exist in the first place.”

Stiles doesn’t know quite how to react to this little tidbit. His dad doesn’t have any living relatives, and he thought he mom hadn’t either, so his concept of family is a fairly insular thing. Now there’s a chance he might have more, and a very bizarre, possibly _evil_ more at that (he somehow doubts the “Dark” Fae got their name by wearing a lot of black). “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because both parents have to be Fae, don’t they?” Parrish guesses.

“Exactly,” Derek confirms. “Deaton did DNA testing when he found out about Stiles’s mother. He said to tell you he apologizes for the invasion of privacy by the way.” His expression makes it clear what he thinks about the vet-druid-emissary and the man’s behavior. “You _are_ Stiles’s biological father, Sheriff, which should be _impossible_.”

Stiles can’t help it; he bursts out laughing. “Wow. So you’re saying that even among a race of man eating superhumans, I’m still a freak of nature?”

“Shocking isn’t it?” Derek drawls. “Danny might be able to tell us more. What happened to him?”

“He had a drop of Stiles’s blood and passed out,” Parrish replies. “Vampire,” he adds seeing the Sheriff’s confused expression.

“Naturally.”

“While we’re on the subject, he mentioned something about taking me to get some…food?” Parrish adds.

“One thing at a time,” Derek says drily. “Stiles, try feeding off him.”

Stiles looks at the unconscious boy and tries not to let his mouth water (a euphemism he uses in his own head lest just _thinking_ about the horror of popping a boner right in front of his dad tempt the Fates into making that happen) at the idea. “That seems kinda bad touchy,” he hedges.

“I didn’t say _mount him right in front us_ , Stiles. Just kiss him and see if you can pull out whatever it is you put in.”

“That sounds so wrong,” Stiles mutters but does as suggested, kneeling beside the zonked out vampire. “I’ll buy you dinner or something later,” he says, then presses his mouth to Danny’s. The rush is just as incredible this time as before, and as much as it turns him on it’s not sexual so much as the power of it is intoxicating. He _likes_ it. _Too_ much. Part of him roars in furious outrage when he breaks it off the second Danny starts coming around. Keeping Derek up the pool for two hours was less of an effort than _this_.

“That was awesome,” Danny purrs.

“Vampires,” Derek mutters. “What can you tell us about Stiles?”

“Mmmmmmm.”

“Helpful.”

“Jungle.

“He’s a jungle Fae?”

Danny blinks rapidly, a measure of awareness returning to his eyes. “No, _Jungle_ , the club. Hot Cop needs to feed.”

“ _Hot Cop_?” Jordan repeats incredulously.

“Get used to it, Son,” the Sheriff advises.

Oh goodie, Stiles has always wanted an older brother/sex thrall. _Blergh_. “Go. Get un-incubused.”

Jordan nods gratefully and helps Danny to his feet before turning to the Sheriff. “Do you need anything else, Sir?”

“Just get yourself taken care of.”

“What are you, anyway?” Derek asks.

“Ifrit and Akvan, apparently,” Jordan replies with a grimace, clearly uncomfortable with his sudden non-humanity (Stiles is right there with him, _seriously_ ).

Derek whistles in surprise. “You’re kidding. Damn, no wonder.” He gives the Deputy a look of heavy consideration that makes him fidget. “Actually, this is good. Danny?”

“I’ll make sure he eats well,” the vampire promises.

“I am I going to have to arrest myself?” Jordan wonders drily. “You don’t mean that literally, right?”

Danny rolls his eyes and starts pulling him towards the door. “We’re just going dancing, Deputy. I promise. By the way, under Fae law I’m a legal adult.”

Stiles almost starts to follow them, entranced by those mental images, but the legal adult comment dumps some cold water on his libido. Consent, again. Christ, he’s _never_ going to have sex again. The irony of it is painful, but after the nogitsune mess Stiles has developed some very strong feelings on the subject of Agency. It’s probably the most ridiculous, most wildly naïve decision in the history of the Fae, but he resolves not to cross that line. Ever. “So, where were we?” he asks clapping his hands together once the temptation has hobbled out of the house. Derek is still there, but Stiles doubts he’ll have any trouble restraining himself. You are what you eat as the saying goes, and he has no desire to spend the rest of his supernaturally extended days as a werelemon.

“Derek was saying how you shouldn’t exist,” Scott supplies helpfully (accusingly).

“You were talking about my wife’s family,” the Sheriff corrects with an only marginally less hostile expression.

If either glare bothers Derek in the slightest it doesn’t show. “Like I said, I don’t know who they were. Deaton drew another blood sample earlier. He might be able to find out more now that Stiles has come into his abilities.”

Stiles bites back a frustrated sound as the pressure created by the buildup of Burning Questions in his head approaches critical mass. Priorities, then. “Speaking of my so-called abilities, how does feeding work for me?”

Derek looks up at the ceiling like he hopes it will collapse and crush him. “Really, Stiles? The _incubus_ needs to explain how sex works?”

“I thought you and Malia…” Scott starts to ask in confusion, cutting himself off at Stiles’s frantic kill gestures.

Too late.

“Stiles, please tell me you didn’t have unprotected sex in an insane asylum with a werecoyote,” his dad pleads weakly.

 _Of course_ he puts that together in a half second flat. Sometimes having a cop for a dad _really_ blows. “I thought I was _dying_. And Malia was…” Really hot.

“I really don’t need to know,” his dad says holding up his hands in surrender. “This conversation already includes far more information about my son’s sex life than I ever wanted.”

“ _None_ of us want to talk about this,” Derek interjects. “But Stiles is a newborn incubus. When he walks into the high school tomorrow every single hormonal teenager in the place is going to be throwing themselves at him. If we can’t keep him well fed, half of his class will be dead by spring break, and the Fae Elders will probably execute all of us for not taking care of our Lord.”

Stiles is still hung up on this Lord thing. “Can’t I just resign or abdicate or something?”

“Sure,” Derek replies. “If you _want_ to start off your multimillenial lifespan by making yourself look weak in front of a society of powerful supernatural predators.”

“Sounds like the County Commissioner’s Office,” the Sheriff quips.

“Wait, Stiles is going to live for _thousands of years_?” Scott demands. “That’s…”

“If you say _impossible_ I’m going to hit you over the head with a mirror _Wolf Boy_ ,” Stiles warns while adding another Mom-related question the pile. “So I need to learn control. No big, I mean, I taught _Scott_.”

“Hilarious. Jerk.”

Derek growls in frustration. “It’s not that easy. I saw how hard it was for you to stop feeding off Danny just now, and Fae are much more resistant to your powers than humans. Besides, you nearly killed _Parrish_ , and Djinn draw their life force directly from the elemental planes. If lose control and start feeding off a human they could be a dead husk before you even realize you’ve slipped up.”

“I think I need to sit down,” Stiles mutters before collapsing onto the couch.

“Hey, you’ll be okay,” Scott says sitting down next to him. “You can uh…feed off me if really need to. You’re not going to hurt anyone, I promise,” he vows, eyes shining.

Stiles wants to kiss the Alpha, and not in a sexy life-sucking way either. He settles for hugging him, and if he squeezes harder than necessary and enjoys the pained grunt this gets him a little much to be seemly it’s only natural. Finally _he_ gets to be the strong one, without being ridden by an all powerful psycho fox. “Thanks, bro, but I don’t think exploring our heteroflexibility together is covered by the Bro Code.

“You sure?” Scott asks, almost falling over with relief.

“It’s a bad idea anyway,” Derek puts in. “Alphas have extremely powerful chi, but their lives are only a couple of times longer than a humans.”

“So what, werewolves, er, Luperci are the Fae feeding equivalent of empty calories?” Stiles snickers.

Derek tries to glare him to death, replies with a curt “Yes,” when that fails. “Right now the only Fae your age I know of in town are Danny and Malia.”

“No,” Stiles says quickly. “No sex until I my control is good enough that I know I’m not incubusing consent out of people.”

“That’s idiotic even for you, Stiles,” Derek snarks. “Deaton said that because of your age you’ll need at least three sexual partners to keep yourself fed without running the risk of enslaving or killing one of them.”

It’s a fucking nightmare. Forget how weird his decision is for an incubus, he must be the first teenage boy ever to turn down a pass to unlimited mind-blowing sex with as many gorgeous people as he wants. “Can’t I just do the kissing thing?”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s not the same. You’d need a _lot_ more…” he trails off with a thoughtful frown. “Actually that could work. _If_ Parrish can feed enough for the both of you.”

“You want me to pimp my son out to one of my Deputies?” the Sheriff demands flatly.

“I think it’s kind of the other way around,” Stiles suggests wryly. “I guess that could work if he’s okay with it.”

“So we’re done talking about Stiles having sex?” Scott asks hopefully.

“For. Now,” Derek growls. “The bigger problem is the Light Fae that will be coming here. My family kept them away for a long time, but this is an official County now.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” the Sheriff asks.

“I don’t know,” Derek admits grudgingly. “I wasn’t supposed to need to know most of this.”

“There has to be someone that can tell us what we need to know,” the Sheriff insists.

“Noshiko,” Stiles blurts. “She’s a nine hundred year old celestial kitsune.”

Scott’s face brightens. “Does that mean Kira is Light Fae?”

“Yes, _Romeo_ ,” Derek replies snippily, mouth snapping shut when Stiles hits him with a warning glare that rocks the werewolf back half a step as though it was a physical blow. Scott is not ready to have his Shakespearean Tragedy of an ex dissected, and by _Derek_ of all people.

“Huh. So you have to do what I say, don’t you?” Stiles asks grinning at the Beta.

Derek’s expression achieves Scott levels of mulishness. “Fine, we might as well do this now.” He stalks over and takes a knee in front of Stiles. “In the name of the Light, by the Sun and Moon and Stars and Great Gods, I pledge my life, loyalty, and fealty to thee Lord Oak.” He draws a claw across his palm and lets the blood fall on the floor at Stiles’s feet.

“Is there something I’m supposed to say or can I skip right to “you’re cleaning that up”?” he asks.

“Say “I accept with honor and so pledge my protection”,” his dad suggests, amusement coloring his exasperated sighing.

Stiles repeats the words, feels an uncomfortable stuck-in-church squirming in his belly as Derek nods solemnly and rises. _Derek_ did something _solemn_. Somehow that makes this local government thing seem so much more real, not to mention deadly dangerous. “Aw fuck me _sideways_ , this is going to suck, huh?”

“Language,” his dad says sharply. “And if you want to keep from falling into patterns of dubious consent, for which I am very proud of you by the way, you should probably avoid propositioning the room at large.”

Well at least someone has already progressed to the joking phase. “Right, because now that I have abs I’m suddenly Elvis.”

Derek fixes him with a look that borders on lascivious. “You’re an _incubus_. If it wouldn’t completely destroy my self-respect _I’d_ have sex with you.”

“Careful, dude; there was almost a compliment in there,” Stiles drawls. Oddly enough the fact that even Derek would jump his bones because of what he is only makes him feel worse.


End file.
